


Imprisoned

by Solemnly_Swear (Fitzsimmonsx)



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur is bad at expressing his emotions (like always), Fluff, M/M, Pre-Slash, Typical Merlin getting into a scrape and Arthur rescuing him, dorks being dorks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-12-14 01:00:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21007073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fitzsimmonsx/pseuds/Solemnly_Swear
Summary: Merlin is imprisoned for using magic and (who would have guessed?) Arthur saves him.(aka the one where Merlin is a dork and Arthur is a dork, but they’re dorks in lo- ahem.)





	Imprisoned

**Author's Note:**

> Just found this in my notes app and figured I might as well post it. (I should really look through there more often, I have a bunch of junk saved up in there). Anyways, enjoy!

Upon being unceremoniously shoved in a cell and locked in, the first thought that enters Merlin’s mind is that Camelot’s dungeons are much nicer.

This is, of course, a biased judgment, as Merlin has spent much time there and even become rather comfortable with each of the guards- but it is reinforced immediately when Merlin takes a good look at his new cell. There is mold at Merlin’s feet, accompanied by the unpleasant smell of decay and human waste. The latter smell appears to originate from the corner of Merlin’s cell- thankfully, it is draped in shadows and Merlin can’t make out any particulars. The rest of the cell has met a similar fate, and the farthest wall even has something that looks like dried blood on it.

Merlin shudders and debates the merit of using magic to clean it up a bit. It’s not like the guards will be shocked- magic is what he has been locked up for, after all.

It all began with Arthur, as most things did. A deadly skirmish had begun in a town on the outskirts of Camelot, and by the time news reached the castle, it had become clear that the cause was magical. As Merlin had heard it described, it was as if fighting had become a plague. Men, women, and children alike were caught up once they entered the fray. Victims fought for days on end, until they either died from exhaustion or someone else managed to restrain them.

It had been immediately clear to Merlin that stopping the skirmish wouldn’t be easy. The magic would have to be stopped at its root, and more likely than not, the sorcerer would already have left town. Even Arthur seemed grim as he handed out orders. It seemed that their best hope was to restrain the victims and wait it out- at some point, even the greatest of magic began to fray around the edges. But that could take months, or years, and in the meantime, more victims would be claimed.

The town they entered was a ghost town- the streets were empty and vast in their silence. The only noise had come from the center of the skirmish, and that noise was terrible to behold. There were screams and cries for help a hundred times over, but the crowd was too thick and the space too narrow to pick out individual people.

Arthur had immediately given the order to restrain the victims, and that was how it had begun. They had brought a gas prepared by Gaius to knock them out, and it appeared to be working rather well until the first knight was absorbed into the fight.

It had gone downhill from there. For every victim they rescued, another two knights were lost- even Merlin, who had been ordered away from the fighting, could see the ridiculously noble expression arising on Arthur’s face.

He was going to try to do it all himself, Merlin was sure of it. He’d spent enough years next to Arthur to recognize that stubborn, unyielding expression of determination, and he wasn’t going to let it happen.

Merlin glanced around quickly, muttered a spell to temporarily knock Arthur out (it could easily be claimed that Gaius’s preparations had been a bit too strong). Unfortunately, Merlin had not been thorough enough in his initial check for onlookers (but on the other hand, Merlin did get to see Arthur topple over into a pile of horse dung at the side of the road. It really never got old.)

So here he is now, stuck in a cell while the rest of the knights have probably already caught the plague. And Arthur- Merlin studiously avoids thinking about Arthur, because his knocking-Arthur-out plan abided under the assumption that Merlin would be there to work out a more long-term solution by the time Arthur woke up.

The guards outside Merlin’s cell peer in, leering at him- the first is short and squat, while the second is tall and wiry. That seems to be where their differences end, though- both appear to take a personal sense of pride in having Merlin imprisoned, and they had each managed to land four kicks on Merlin before caging him in. Merlin’s ribs feel bruised, but that’s the least of it- if he’s right, these guards are under the impression that Merlin is the sorcerer responsible for the plague.

Merlin shifts slightly away from the bars, until he‘s no longer in reach of the guards, and tries to get his bearings. The knights usually manage to pull out of these disasters unharmed. Merlin has no doubt that the majority will be fine after the spell is broken and victims are taken care of.

Arthur- Arthur is always alright. Merlin hates to admit it, even to himself, but Arthur can be quite intelligent and isn’t actually horrible at strategizing. He has faith that Arthur will find them all a way out and save the people of the town. That brings Merlin back to his own pitiful situation, however.

The next hours pass in a similar way- Merlin decides that if he isn’t released or called for by the time the sun rises, he’ll have to escape on his own. The cell, as dank and revolting as it is, seems to have no wards against magic; clearly his guards thought they could hold Merlin on their own strength. It’s foolish, but exactly the type of impression that people tend to get of Merlin, and this time he will be glad to use it to his own advantage.

The first beams of sunlight slip into his cell at the same time as Hell breaks loose outside of Merlin’s cell. Merlin averts his eyes from the corner of his cell (the details of which have finally been illuminated), and is extremely gratified to see the heads of his guards being bashed against his cell. They collapse against the bars of Merlin’s cell, unconscious, and Merlin makes eye contact with Arthur.

“Hello,” Merlin goes for, hoping it sounds casual and also that no-one has divulged the reason for Merlin’s incarceration.

“Merlin,” Arthur starts, the familiar tone of annoyance in his voice, “I would appreciate it if you could explain to me why, exactly, you’re being held in the dungeons?”

Something about the familiarity of Arthur’s tone (or maybe the stress of being imprisoned in an unfamiliar dungeon for the night) prompts the tears that begin to roll down Merlin’s face. Merlin wipes them away quickly with the back of his hand and gives Arthur a big grin.

“I am so glad you’re here,” Merlin tells him, and it feels like one of the most truthful things he’s said in his entire life.

Arthur is silent for so long that Merlin opens his mouth to make a joke (anything, really, to break the silence), but Arthur speaks first. “I’m glad you’re okay,” he says in a subdued tone, his gaze checking over Merlin as if to be sure he really is okay.

Merlin nods hurriedly, mind racing as he searches for a less dangerous subject. “Are the knights fine?” He settles on, checking for any grief or anger on Arthur’s face. “How are the victims?”

“Hmm?” Arthur says absentmindedly from where he’s been glancing around Merlin’s cell. Then recognition flashes over his face as he processes the question. “The victims are in full recovery, all of them. The sorcerer was caught nearby- you missed it, it must have been after you were arrested. Apparently it was just a child that got into a street fight and lost control of his magic- it drew everyone around him into the fight and kept spreading, and he had no idea how to stop it.” He pauses here, glancing over at Merlin for a second. “Anyways, I’ve decided to spare him as long as he learns control for the future. I know that Father would have had him executed, but he’s only a child.”

“You were right,” Merlin tells him, and something shifts in the set of Arthur’s shoulders, relaxing. “You were right to spare him.”

Arthur clears his throat, as if embarrassed to have needed reassurance, and Merlin stands gingerly against the wall of the cell, testing his ribs where he was kicked. He prods at the bruises and winces.

“Are you hurt?” Arthur asks. It’s disbelieving, as if Merlin will tell him it’s all a joke (but really, it’s not- Merlin’s ribs hurt like hell).

“The guards just kicked me around a bit,” Merlin mutters, checking another bruise. Then he looks up, takes in the murderous look Arthur is directing at the prone bodies of the guards, and adds on “They’ll heal within a week with Gaius’s help, it’s fine.”

A clanging comes from up the stairs that Arthur presumably came from, giving them both pause.

“Arthur! Did you find him?” comes a call from the top of the stairs.

“Yes, he’s down here!” Arthur calls back. He takes a deep breath then turns back to Merlin. “We should get back up there. We’re leaving soon.”

Merlin steps out of his cell, taking a precious breath of (admittedly still musty) air. “Smells like freedom,” he says, eyes closed.

“Oh, hurry up, will you?” Arthur says with something that could be described as fondness. He steps closer and hesitates before thumping Merlin on the back (Merlin suppresses his initial reaction of pain and merely grimaces).

Then a considering look flashes over Arthur’s face before he seems to come to a decision and pulls Merlin into a tight hug.

There’s the distinct smell of horse dung still attached to Arthur, layered with the Arthur-smell that Merlin has come to recognize: the smell of the palace and the slight metal tinge of armor, cut through with the fresh scent of soap. Merlin should pull away, but he simply sinks into the hug, taking a deep breath. Surprisingly enough, Arthur does the same.

“Magic, they said?” He mutters next to Merlin’s ear. “They thought you were the sorcerer?”

Merlin grimaces and tries to pull away to see Arthur’s expression, but Arthur holds him tight for a couple more seconds before releasing him.

“Some people really are idiots,” Arthur says. “You, a sorcerer?”

It’s exactly what Merlin has hoped Arthur will say, but there’s something unnervingly thoughtful in Arthur’s expression. Finally, Arthur sets off towards the stairs, and Merlin happily follows.


End file.
